


Mistaken

by SilverGuardian (TheGuardian219)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea is the Best PA, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minor Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Mistaken Identity, Mycroft Whump, Only if you squint - Freeform, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture, What Was I Thinking?, Worried Sherlock, i was bored, very minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:59:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuardian219/pseuds/SilverGuardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's written up a list of why exactly is he a possible kidnap victim. None of them included being mistaken as his brother. <br/>After all Mycroft didn't saw much resemblance between him and Sherlock. His auburn hair contrasting his brother's wild chocolate curls, his taste fir impeccable suits versus his brother's coat. He also had the sense to just sigh over who was more attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken

**Author's Note:**

> It came just before I closed my eyes. It wouldn't let me sleep.I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist, I can't stop torturing Mycroft!!! I think I need help XD. 
> 
> ANYWAY, this was set just before Sherlock became a net phenomenon. I believe that John has a photo of himself in his blog so the kidnappers would know who he was. 
> 
> More explanation at the end because I don't want to spoil anything.   
> Hope you enjoy!

Mycroft was sat on one of the black government cars he usually rides for business. His brother beside him and John Watson across him. Apparently John didn't want a stare down between two Holmes and threatened to not come if he has to sit next to one of them. Mycroft merely smirked as his brother sulked.

"Where exactly are we going?" John asked after minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"Dropping you off your crime scene before I go to the Diogenes. I took the advantage of saving time and energy and decided to brief you on the case on the way."

"Then brief us already. I was on a bloody case, Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Mycroft ignored it and handed a file to John seeing that Sherlock would not take it.

"An agent w-"

For a millisecond John froze and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, years of training honing his instincts. A bullet was planted on the head of their driver and the vehicle swerved. Luckily for them, the late hours provided them with only a few cars to hope to miss. 

"We're gonna crash!" 

John felt someone tug him down and cover him and Sherlock vaguley felt a hand try to push him down before he felt the impact of the crash. Mycroft's ears were ringing after a few seconds, he could barely make out people yelling, he heard the door open.

"Which one is it?"

"Where's Dr.Watson?"

"That one."

"Bloody hell. It's probably this bloke."

He felt someone pulling him out. He tried to resist but the world tilted and all he saw was black.

* * *

**10:54 pm**

Sherlock and John were livid in bakerstreet. They were found by Mycroft's men ten minutes after the crash. They were immediately rushed to the nearest hospital where they were met by Anthea. 

Mycroft's car was stronger than expected. 

They only had a few cuts and bruises. Sherlock bruised three ribs and John's back would be absolutely sore for a few days. 

Mycroft was gone.

Anthea had a seperate team conducting investigations. The prime minister was notified of the abduction and in a few hours so will the queen. Everyone up high in the government who knew the backbone of England was on edge.

"Any news?"

John asked as he sat in his chair, going through Sherlock's messages in case someone from thr network has seen Mycroft.

"None."

Sherlock paced around, the wall above the couch was littered with maps and notes. Pictures surrounded several areas with drawings of them made by a marker.

It was silent for a while. The tensions could be cut by a knife.

Then there was a  _Bing_ noise from John's laptop. Anthea's fingers stopped typing, John froze, and Sherlock whipped around so fast it should have hurt.

John scrambled to get the laptop as Anthea stood in front of it, remaining out of the shot and Sherlock moved just beside John.

It was an email. John looked at Anthea as she moved to place herself beside them.

Her fingers resumed their typing.

It was a link. A live video feed or whatever thing John didn't really care about at the moment. The subject stated only one word.

_Surprise_

John clicked it and they were greeted by darkness. He thought that it was a prank or a virus but then a voice spoke. Anthea can still see the screen but maintained her position so that the person could not see her.

"Good evening Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." 

A male voice with a hint of german accent greeted them.

"Who are you?" John asked. He could practically hear Sherlock rolling his eyes.

"No one of importance. Let's just say I'm someone who you and Sherlock Holmes owe a great deal."

"Impossible." Sherlock scoffed. He still couldn't see the man. Perhaps he could rile the man up and to get him to reveal his face. Then again, he might cause harm to his brother.

The lights began to flicker and both John and Sherlock peered closer. It was a figure, tied to a chair and with a rag in his mouth.

It was Mycroft.

"That got your attention, didn't it?" the accent changed to african. Sherlock inwardly cursed.

There was a snap before a masked man went into view and violently took the rag away from Mycroft's mouth. It was obvious he was not the brains of the operation.

"Hello brother-dear, how are you?"

Mycroft asked with fake pleasure and smile. The camera was placed nearer so they could only see from his collar-up. He looked up, presumably listening to his captor.

"I see. It appears one of the cases left a loose string. Ah John." he said as if noticing him for the first time. "I see my brother has agreed for you to join the investigation, how kind of him." 

John looked confused and Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"What are you getting at M-" Sherlock began.

"Well, Mycroft." There was a hint of emphasis anyone but Sherlock would have missed. "It appears that there was one loose string I left from one of your cases some weeks ago." 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at them.

"My, my, dear brother, just how many pies do you have your finger on?"

A masked man tied a cloth to Mycroft's mouth again before the screen was once again dark.

"What have you done with him?" John practically yelled. It was expected seeing as though Mycroft was playing Sherlock for the time being.

"What exactly did my brother do to cause such extreme measures."

"According to my people, you were the one who gave him the case. You ordered him to reveal my network."

He sighed dramatically. "Revenge, how original. What do you want?"

"I want you to suffer. You were the reason why my brother died. Either give me the information I want or your brother dies."

Then the transmission broke.

"Did you get the coordinates."

"No. It's being bounced all across the globe. He's got some IT experts with him." Anthea frowned.

"Mycroft's pretending to be you."

"Yes, John. Do keep up." Sherlock ruffled his hair as he paced.

"Why won't he just tell him that they were mistaken? How did the men even screw up?"

"Do you remember the case last month, the one with human trafficking and drugs?"

"Yes. Are you saying that that's the guy?"

"No, it's his brother. Anthony Silverton . He's one of the most notorious criminal world wide. He steals national information and sells them to the highest bidder."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. John do you remember the case three weeks ago? That was the latest case he gave me, it rules out the several boring ones he gave months ago because he, himself said otherwise. Frederick Silverton is locked up in prison, remember? So that meams he can't organize a proper kidnapping."

"The kidnappers thought they were taking me. You remember our position in the car, Mycroft was covering you and they thought that seeing you were a friend that I would try to protect you from danger. They didn't have enought time to confirm their target."

"Oh my God." John sighed as he lowered his head. "What will he do to him?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at John. 

"Most likely torture him. He believes that he has the man responsible for his brother's imprisonment at the same time, he has the perfect hostage in order to get top secret information from the government."

"But you don't know what he wants. Mycroft's the only one that can access those information. Why won't he just say he has the information?"

"Sentiment." Sherlock sighed as grabbed his hair.

It took a few seconds to understand it. If they continued to believe that they can keep believing that they were torturing their ace against Mycroft. Sherlock and John would be perfectly safe. Sherlock can't reveal any sensitive information and he won't be hurt. 

If they blabbed that they caught the wrong guy, they might try to kidnap Sherlock. The detective will be beaten in front of Mycroft and the elder Holmes will have no choice. But if they maintained their cover, the men won't dare come close to Sherlock, believing that he has the highest amount of security possible.

It was brilliant.

It was  _stupid._

* * *

  **11:32 pm**

Sherlock recalled the events in his mind-palace. The walls were white. The walls indicated that they were old, no less than ten years. There were no windows. There was blood all over Mycroft's face. The cracks on the wall added another five yeats. Mycroft's blood dripping from his hairline. The quality wasn't that good. Blood.

He yelled, slapping himself. 

He needs distance. He can't let emotions rule his mind. 

Mycroft did not belong in that room. He should never have his blood cover his face and body. His big brother was never weak.

* * *

Mycroft swallowed as they left them alone for awhile. 

The punches were getting harder. The kicks more violent. He was aware that this was being recorded. He tried not to show too much pain. As long as John and Sherlock don't reveal anything, they'll be safe. Hopefully Anthea can locate him in time. It was difficult maintaining a steady supply of insults while being beaten.

He raised his head as the men re-entered the room. They stood him up and chained his arms to the chains connecting to the walls, forcing his arms to stretch across the room. His long arms helped a lot. The chains didn't strain them too much. For now.

He sighed as he saw one of them holding a pipe before smirking at his captors.

* * *

**2:27 am**

 "Good evening Mr. Holmes. Have you decided yet?" it was a french accent now. That really got their blood pumping.

"You can stop with the fake accents, we know exactly who you are Mr. Silverton."

The screen showed nothing but darkness but barely, just barely, Sherlock could make out shapes in the darkness. Anthea was beside them, observing but still staying out of shot. 

"It appears as though you have yet to make a decision. Let me give you a little-shall we say- motivation"

The light opened and John gasped in surprise. Where Mycroft was tied upon a chair earlier, he was now laying on the floor with puddles of blood around him. His hands were tied behind his back and his back- Good lord- they were covered with cuts and welts.

"Sherlock!" his doctor instincts skyrocketing. It wasn't that hard to pretend that it was indeed his friend. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Sherlock kept his gaze even though inside, he was a mess. Mycroft looked  _dead._ He was faced down on the concrete and he could barely see if his brother was still breathing.

Anthea worked more furiously as she saw the state of her employer.

"What do you want?" Sherlock was seething inside.

"You know what."

"You have to make yourself clearer. I do not know what you want."

"You know who I am therefore you know what I want."

"I want to speak to my brother."

There was a moment of silence before the laptop(pressumably) were moved closer to Mycroft. It was laid to the ground before a gloved hand clutched Mycroft's auburn hair and pulled him into a sitting position. There was a small cry of pain but atleast they knew he was consciouss.

Blood was drying on his chin and a bruise was slowly blooming on his left cheekbone. There was a cut on his eyebrow and his nose looked crooked.

"Still haven't found me? Dear God brother, are you going senile?" he gasped out.

"Middle-age, brother mine. Comes to us all. "

John felt odd seeing this conversation. Seeing Mycroft tease Sherlock and Sherlock being matured for once would have made him crack a smile in other circumstances.

"Have you figured out what these gentlemen want from me?"

Mycroft looked up and tilted his head before looking back at the screen.

"Some information about moles and raids. Obviously he wants a list of your moles in his network."

"Are you alright?" John asked abruptly.

"Considering the circumstances, I would say that I am fine."

"Time's up I'm afraid."

Then the connection was lost.

* * *

  **3:47 am**

"Can't we just hand him a fake list?"

"No. First, we really have no list." a quick glance at Anthea and she begun to explain.

"It was a delicate operation. Mr. Holmes thought it prudent to make sure we leave no traces therefore he is the only one who can access it, if a hard copy has been made, that is."

Of course Mycroft will lock that secret away in the safest place possible, his mind. To any other it nay seem stupid but to a Holmes? It speaks volumes of just how important the matter is.

"Then this blackmailer, he's really something big, isn't he. He wouldn't call the attention of Mycroft if he's just some nobody, right?"

"Yes. Mr. Silverton has some very delicate information on people up high. Very high."

"How many agents are there?" Sherlock asked. 

The PA looked at him straight in the eye. Contemolating wether the men in front of her is worthy of such knowledge 

"Four. Mr. Holmes hand-picked them himself."

Sherlock shrugged and continued pacing.

Mrs. Hudson popped her head in carrying a package. Clearly annoyed at being woken up at such an hour.

"Didn't you hear the ringing? There was a nice young man dropping this off. I thought he a-"

Sherlock grabbed it and Mrs. Hudson stopped her speech as she made her way down, exasperated. 

"What is it?"

Sherlock shook it gently. Trying to decipher what it contained. A quick look at his companions and he opened it.

It was a disc.

_Motivation_

The word was written in black marker on one side. Anthea narrowed her eyes at it.

The timestamp showed that it was a few hours before their last chat with Silverton.

It showed his brother chained to a wall being beaten by two men. A pipe was used to hit his back at one point, Sherlock nearly hurled his computer in anger. They can't hear anything but the contact of flesh against flesh, the occasional grunt of pain and the colorful insults Mycroft threw at his captors.

The beating continued on in what appeared to be hours, they wanted to stop watching it but everyone was frozen to their spot. It was surreal, watching someone who was the embodiment of power be so powerless.

But no, he wasn't powerless. Anthea reasoned. Her boss was not powerless in that room, he fought his captors, he played all of them brilliantly now he was buying them time to capture them. 

There was a small moment before the video stopped, a small moment when they saw Mycroft Holmes look at the camera, his eyes shining and his mouth in his signature smirk, before it went black.

* * *

  **6:08 am**

Sherlock Holmes had trouble concentrating. Any attempts at going to his mind palace only resulted in him seeing his brother be beaten by those brutes.

Caring is not an advantage.

Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.

"Sherlock? Everything alright?"

"I can't focus, John." 

"Are you alright?" John put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes squarely in front of him.

"My mind won't work properly. My stomach, it feels odd, my pulse is slightly elevated, m-"

"Look, see here? You're worried. And that's fine, it's normal. "

And he was, really, worried that his brother may die before he figures it out. He was reluctant to ackniwledge the idea before John said it. But now-

"Listen, use that worry to get him. Don't let it distract you, use the damn thing like a motivation." he winced at the term. Wait-

"Mycroft would have a field day if he ever found out th- Sherlock?"

He's got that look in the eye like he found something out. A slow smile creeping on his face as his eyes closed and retreated to his mind-palace. John walked away with a shrug and a small smile.

* * *

 "You are wasting your time. My brother will never give you the information."

Mycroft wheezed out as his head was removed from the water. He coughed as much liquid as he can before being dunked again. 

This had been going on for what it seems like twenty minutes. 

He'll be lucky to avoid pneumonia if he wasn't rescued on time. 

"You don't have that much confidence in your brother?"

He gasped for air before answering.

"I never had much confidence in him to begin with. But it's not that."

He smirked while rolling his eyes. "I trust that queen and country will always be his first priority." It was probably what Sherlock thought of him. He needs to be convincing but at the same time not get lost in his brother's personality.

He found a guard who had a phone on his back pocket. 

A key in another.

Unfortunately his arms were tied behind him and he is being constantly monitored.

There's one other thing. He has not seen any of his agents yet.

"Let's do something different." 

The basin was removed and he suppressed a sigh as he saw a whip in one of the man's hands. Things will get messy. He can't keep quiet anymore.

He closed his eyes and tried to go to his mind-palace.

* * *

**8:29 am**

 "Mister Holmes. There was a hit on the fingerprint on the paperbag. I just sent you the details."

There was a tell-tale bing on his phone just as she finished.

"Our people are tracking his movements for the last several days as we speak."

Alright. 

He looked at the photo and let the facts show themselves

Mid-forties. Single. Gambling problem. Smoker. 

The next picture showed the man buying a newdpaper.

 Right-handed. Has a tattoo on right wrist. Near-sighted. Two-day jacket. Second-hand jeans. 

_Charles Coleman_

Five years ago his wife divorced him and his small business fell. He has been in contact with drug cartels and some minor terrorist groups since.

Unfortunately he does not appear to be high-up on the foodchain seeing as he was the errand boy for Silverton. 

"Sherlock."

John muttered as he stared at his computer. The detective walked over to see what his blogger wanted.

"I've received an email. From him."

Anthea ceased her typing as she heard those words. She made her way to the back of John's chair beside Sherlock.

"Open it."

John's jaw fell open. Sherlock's eyes narrowed while Anthea's lips were set in a flat line.

It was pictures. Seven pictures.

It showed Mycroft in chains, in a chair, on the floor. Not two pictures were alike.

The marks on his body seemed to multiply shot after shot. The one with the riding crop had Anthea squeeze her blackberry so tight it might have cracked in a few places.

The last picture was of Mycroft in chains, facing them. He only had his trousers on and the various bruises and cuts on his torso screamed weeks of bedrest.

His brilliant steel blue eyes were losing their shine but it still held the same fierce intelligence while he tried to look smug at his captors. 

Wait.

"He knows where he is."

"What?"

Sherlock looked at John with a small smile.

"Look John, Mycroft is signaling us." He pointed at his brother's shackled wrist. His thumb was raised slightly. 

"Are you sure? Maybe his finger's just broken." he said as he glanced at the bruised hand.

"Oh John, this is Mycroft we're talking about. We'll get the location in the next transmission."

* * *

 

"Mister Holmes, my patience is running thin."

They finally saw Silverton face to face. Anthea provided them all the available information of him and then some. 

"It's barely been a day yet. Criminals usually give forty-eight" Sherlock said trying to act like the stiff-upper lip bureaucat his brother is.

"Running a web as big as mine does not give me a very flexible schedule."

"Just how big is your web?"

"Big enough." the man smirked.

"I have to admit though, your brother is one tough nut to crack."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

"Iv'e been informed about your relationship by several if my associates. Apparently you don't get on pretty well."

"We have a difficult relationship, as one would say."

"But he cares a lot for doctor Watson, does he not?"

Sherlock stared at the man. 

John was behind the laptop, looking at Sherlock worriedly.

 "Call dr. Watson Mr. Holmes. I believe your brother will appreciate seeing his friend."

He narrowed his eyes before nodding at John. He was planning something.

John gasped at the sight of Mycroft. 

"Oh Sherlock." his voice oozing pity for his flatmate.

"Ah, John. Don't worry, merely a flesh wound."

Mycroft flashed a teasing smile in their direction.

"We'll get you out of there. Don't worry. I'm sure your brother will find a way."

"Oh please. If the queen were to invite him for tea, he would drop everything and run." Mycroft scoffed while Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother. Oh dear God, it was rubbing off on him.

"If you hadn't gotten yourself kidnapped, I wouldn't have to worry about you."

"You have got to get your brother out there." John said to Sherlock. Mycroft looked at their interaction with confusion before realization struck him.

"He could get himself out easily."

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Ahem, as amusing as this is to watch, I'm afraid we are keeping a tight schedule here."

He grabbed the computer and placed a few paces in front of Mycroft. Sherlock vaguely saw his brother curse.

"I was hoping not to resort to this." 

He was lying. His manic grin proved it.

He waved a man to approach and John paled at what he saw. The man was holding a whip, he positioned himself behind Mycroft and raised his arms.

_Crack!_

Mycroft groaned in pain.

"Sherlock. Mycroft." John can't make a proper sentence as the whip came down again.

Sherlock was frozen in horror as he watched the whip hit his brother's bare back. Droplets of blood rained on the concrete. 

"Bloody hell!" Mycroft gasped out as he looked at the camera. 

"You maniacal son of a-"  _crack_

_"_ Where the bloody hell-"

"The damn fucker-"

"You bloody git!"

* * *

 

John winced everytime a the whip came down and everytime the elder Holmes cursed. Who knew he had such a colourful vocabulary?

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed at the sametime his brother looked up again.

Mycroft smirked smugly before screaming.

The man seemed to stop for a minute. Mycroft tried to regain his breath back.

"Off you go, brother dear." 

Mycroft slipped into his mind-palace just as the whip came crashing down. 

"Sherlock!" John yelled as he saw Mycroft close his eyes. The whip crashed down and only produced a quiter exclamation of pain.

"There he goes again. Quite a trick, that one. I wonder if you were the one to teach him that."

The laptop was lifted and all they saw was Silverton's face. They still heard the crack of a whip every now and then.

"Now, Mr. Holmes. I won't kill him yet but rest-assured I have done unspeakable things to him now. I shall do even more if I don't get what I want on the next five hours.

* * *

 

"Are you sure that that's the place?"

Anthea asked Sherlock as they glanced at a map.

"Yes. While he was being...whipped, you thought he was yelling nonesense. That's what they thought too. It was a code between us."

Sherlock had a far-away look John only saw a few times before.

"I'm sure."

Anthea walked away in order to organize a team.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

John stared at Sherlock.

"When we were younger, my brother and I used to give codes to a few areas. While I was in university, I would sometimes go and see him in some location-" Sherlock's eyes clouded. "It was before we grew apart."

* * *

 Anthea handed them bullet proof vests as they sat in a car, driving to the location.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

"I know you're going in no matter what I say. It's either this or knock-out gas." she indicated on the glass seperating them from the driver.

John sighed and grabbed them, Sherlock reluctantly grabbed one as well. Anthea supressed a smile.

"Be as discreet as you possibly can. We can't afford to Silverton to take Mr. Holmes as a hostage."

Sherlock tuned everything out. This building, this abandoned building held memories. Memories he and his brother would often deny but forever cherish.

"Sherlock? We're going in."

"But I-"

"I'll fill you in." John smiled.

* * *

Mycroft yelled as his injured back was shoved into a chair and his arms forced behind them.

"Looks like your brother doesn't really care all that much about you."

He remained silent. After so much cussing earlier, he might as well revert back to his own personality. His brother knew precisely where he was, Anthea probably organized a team already.

Every inch of his body was in pain. Especially those that came in contact with the chair.

He has retreated to his mind-palace a few minutes ago, due to the pain, he was slightly alert to what was happening around him. He can't figure out if he was screaming or not. 

A man approached him with a gleaming scalpel. 

He blocked everything out. His brother and his assisstant is on the way, they'll handle everything. He raised his walls higher and blocked the pain in order to sink to his mind completely. 

Silverton frowned as Holmes appeared like he was unconsciouss. This really was quite a trick. He approached the man, smiling evilly as he motioned for a man to grab a bucket.

Mycroft screamed in shock as his mind palace was flooded by cold water. His eyes snapped open and he gasped. A second later, pain greeted him and he tried to suppress the groan of pain. The cold helped dull the pain a little but it still stung. 

He shivered and glared at Silverton.

"Quite a trick you have. But I want you to be awake for a lot of things."

Mycroft's gaze shifted to Silverton's hand and he saw a knife in them.

"Not afraid to get your hand dirty?"

"I have been waiiting for this."

Just then, the door slammed open and men in black flooded the place, shooting Silverton's men but halting as Silverton raised the knife to Mycroft's neck.

Anthea, John and Sherlock followed and froze at the sight.

"If you kill him, you'll die."

"And if I don't, I get tortured. Not much of a choice."

Sherlock's blood boiled at seeing his brother's injuries.

"Took you long enough." Mycroft smirked at him.

"Your men are all incompetent, Mycroft."

"What?" Silverton nearly screamed.

"Clever, don't you think? Your men messed up. You can't kill him because only he has the information. Honestly though, your men are more incompetent than Mycroft's."

 Silverton looked down and when he looked up, his eyes shown with fury and madness.

The scalpel on his hand playfully made patterns on Mycroft's chest. "I wouldn't shoot, if I were you. Reflexes can be so troublesome."

Mycroft's shoulders were tenses, he bit his lip as an image unknowingly flashed before his eyes.

"We had so much fun, eh Mr. Holmes?"

"Look, Mr. Silverton we co-" 

"Shut up!" Anthea cursed at the outburst. Her left hand discreetly crept in to her pocket. She silently tapped on her blackberry.

John's gun was trained on Silverton. One wrong move and he'll fire. They will all fire.

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look.

At a split second, Sherlock saw Silverton prepare to dig the scalpel into Mycroft's chest. Mycroft felt the pressure for a millisecond before he leaned backward suddenly, his head pushing Silverton away, making lose his balance.

Five agents opened fire and so did John. He was dead before he hit the ground.

There was a moment of silence before all hell broke lose.

"Call the medic!"

"Mycroft!"

"Mr. Holmes."

John untied Mycroft. Without the bonds, he fell right into Sherlock's arms with a cry of pain.

Because Mycroft moved in the last second, the scalpel was buried in his shoulder insread of his heart.

Sherlock didn't know how to hold Mycroft. His wounds on his back looked painful, but he can't let him lie on the cold concrete floor. 

"Sherlock." Mycroft gasped out as he grabbed his hand.

"Mycroft?" 

"You did good, little brother." Mycroft smiled before slipping out of consciousness.

* * *

It's been three days since the incident and as Sherlock sat on his brother's bedside, he can't help but feel anger. His brother has woken up for several periods but were too disoriented to make sense.

Anthea had everything sweeped and presumably deleted all the footage the camera they found had. He was given a minor list of his brother's injuries. He was able to deduce what was done to him due to the photos and videos they received.

Mycroft barely showed any signs of pain during their brief chats. 

"No, no don't."

His brother mumbled. It's been happening for awhile now. Clearly his brother was traumatized at what was done to him. 

"Stop. Don't  _please."_ Sherlock looked worriedly at his brother. He sounded ao afraid.

"Mycroft? Wake up, you're having a nightmare."

He grabbed his hand but Mycroft flinched away so violently that Sherlock pulled back with confusion in his eyes.

Mycroft's eye shot open and he gasped for breath. Sherlock silently handed him a glass of water.

The doctors said that the painkillers could cause effects such as confusion and disorientation but there was something that screamed at him to look closer to his body.

"Sherlock?"

"How do you feel?"

Mycroft weakly raised an eyebrow.

"Horrible."

There was an awkward silence.

"Where's Anthea?"

"On her way up, should be here in a few seconds."

Just like she had superpowers, there was a knock on the door. It opened revealing the brunette with her usual blackberry.

"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes."

"Hello to you too, my dear."

"The prime minister sends his regards. So does Ms. Liz."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the horrible name. "Really, brother?"

"There was no need to involve her." he sighed at his assistant who just smiled.

"You did miss a meeting with her. I thought she would feel insulted so I told her the truth. She insisted on knowing precisely when you are rescued and if you were going to be alright."

"Hand me my phone."

Sherlock glared at his brother and Anthea raised her brow.

"Sorry sir, but I can't. No work for atleast a week said the doctor. And you can't handle anything too 'troublesome' for atleast three weeks."

"I am your employer."

"Yes, I see that. However you are not fit for duty ergo the highest ranking 'officer' is the doctor. Therefore-" she stopped and and smirked.

"Yes, fine. I get it. This is insubordination by the way." he rolled his eyes. It was meant in jest so Anthea was not worried. 

"Listen to your PA, brother. She has evidently more sense than you."

"Where's John?"

"Gone to grab some coffee. And no, you can't have any."

Mycroft sighed again and laid back down to his pillows, wincing slightly. Anthea and Sherlock watching him like a hawk.

"Get it off your chest, brother-mine."

"What did they do to you?"

"Anthea has the file." 

"An edited file. Information has been blacked out by now. Plus, what I will read will only be the results not what caused them. And not how they were caused."

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment. An image flashing for a second.

"I'm assuming they sent pictures."

"A whip, a riding crop, beatings, water-boarding, a scalpel, a pipe, need I go on? anyone could get that information, Mycroft."

"Then you don't need to know anymore."

"Must you alwayd be so difficult."

"Pot-kettle-black, Sherlock. You now have an inkling of the trouble I experience everyrtime I have to convince you to take a case." Convince is putting it mildly.

"You're hiding something. Why?"

"Why do you need to know? It's over. It's done. There is nothing left to do but to put those guilty behind bars."

"I'll keep digging." 

"You're welcomed to try. There is nothing to find, Sherlock."

"I shall return later with Kohn to pester you." with a swivel of his coat, he was off to find his blogger. Calling cavalry in order to get information or at the very least, irritate his brother.

* * *

 

"Was that wise?"

"No. Then again I am under heavy medication." he gave her a look. She just shook her head.

"Not enough if you ask me." she grumbled.

There was a moment of silence.

"I'm arranging for a therapist."

"No need." his eyes turned steel as he looked at her.

"Sir, after the trauma you experienced-"

"It isn't something I haven't experienced before." she winced. She had hoped for the lesser evil.

She hoped that it wasn't his first time so he wouldn't be that traumatized but then again, she wouldn't wish anyone to experience that sort of trauma.

"No." there was warning in his eyes and she simply sighed.

"I won't tell anyone. But you really need to talk to someone."

"What for?"

"You were having nightmares."

"They'll go away eventually."

By that he means he'll lock it up somewhere in his mind to gather dust. She sometimes hated the stubborness of the Holmes brothers.

"You need your rest, you're brother's bringing John to annoy you later."

"They'll get bored in a few minutes." he yawned. "I expect to have my phone later, Anthea."

"I didn't hear anything, sir." she smiled as he rolled his eyes before falling asleep.

* * *

 

Anthea smiled sadly as she raised the blanket up to his chest.

They didn't know what to expect when he woke up. They heard murmurs and protests during his nightmares. They didn't expect him to clamp down his emotions that much. She only let them bicker just so Mycroft could have some semblacne of normality back. After those hours of endless pain-

He wasn't broken. He didn't spill any secrets, they didn't want any from him anyway. He'll be right as rain once his injuries heal.

She softly brushed the small curl on his forehead. 

She didn't need the reports. The doctors only checked the major injuries after all. She saw the blood on the chair, she saw the way his body twist when they loaded him on the stretcher. 

Sherlock and John were too busy stopping the crimson river caused by the scalpel to notice the dried blood everywhere. Those pools of blood can tell many tales for those skilled enough to decode them.

 But that is neither here nor there. Mycroft says that he'll be alright therefore he WILL be alright.

She'll be there in case he needs her. She'll listen, she'll provide comfort and support.

In the meantime, she has to be the efficient PA.

Which coincidentally means that she had access to the punishment of a certain criminal and his gang.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I think you want some more information.  
> So we have Silverton's men mistake Mycroft for Sherlock. I think this is because Silverton was to busy building his empire to pay attention to the world around him. Not everyone knows about Sherlock and Silverton is among those who could barely care. He only cared because Sherlock was the caude of his brother's imprisonment indirectly causing his network to weaken. 
> 
> Dealing with emotions is tricky. I think Mycroft would just bury them in his mind. Bu Anthea being the awesome person that she is would try to help her boss.
> 
> I can't really explain much without gving too much of the mystery away, just interpret it as you like and if you liked it please leave a kudos or a comment.


End file.
